


don't leave me tongue-tied

by connorswhisk



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Sharing a Bed, Shotgunning, but here jjpope nation come get your crumbs, good for him, i hate jj's dad, kie is absolutely not straight don't you worry, pope has a gay awakening, quarantine fic #4 lads, wow i actually can't believe i wrote this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:06:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24169318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connorswhisk/pseuds/connorswhisk
Summary: Pope isn’t sure what’s happening. For all he knows, this entire night is a dream, and he’ll wake up to JJ’s snoring coming from the floor below his bed. If it is a dream, it’s doing a pretty good job at masquerading as reality. Pope can feel his heart in his throat.JJ drops his hand, steps back. “Hey, come on. She’s probably talking some poor tourist’s ear off about sea turtles or carbon emissions or whatever-the-fuck.”“Right,” Pope croaks, the sensation of JJ’s skin against his own lingering, like a slap, but softer. “Whatever-the-fuck.”
Relationships: JJ/Pope (Outer Banks)
Comments: 93
Kudos: 460





	don't leave me tongue-tied

**Author's Note:**

> stupid boat show making me homophobic made me write fic for it :///
> 
> title taken from tongue-tied by grouplove, because c'mon

It’s only after John B. is gone that Pope realizes how much he held the Pogues together.

Without him, it’s weird. He’s their leader, yeah, but he’s more than that, too. He’s like _glue_ almost, keeping the group together through any inner drama or any outside Kook bullshit. He’s a mediator. He always knows what to say when there’s trouble.

Pope never knows what the hell to say.

They’d thought John B. was dead. That night of the storm. That he’d drowned, and taken Sarah with him, and they’d all cried and hugged each other and wished they’d been dead, too. That had been right after Kie had kissed Pope for the first time, and she’d held his hand in the tent, palm warm and comforting, the complete opposite of Pope’s, which was probably all sweaty and gross.

But she’d held his hand. That had been nice.

Three days. For three straight days, they’d believed their friends were dead, until on the fourth day Kie got a call from Sarah and John B., calling from _the Bahamas,_ where the gold was.

Kie had cried, cursing up a storm into her phone, and JJ had cried and talked excitedly to John B. about the gold, and Pope had mostly just cried. But their friends were _alive._

Of course, there’s no way they’ll be able to come back to the OBX. Not with John B. with a murder charge and Sarah at this point being considered an accomplice in the whole thing.

Stupid Camerons. Stupid gold. Stupid fucking scholarship that Pope’s dad _won’t_ leave him alone about (he’d managed to avoid grounding only through his mother).

Stupid John B. Stupid Ward Cameron.

Shit.

And they can function _fine_ without him, but it’s just not the same. He was really the go-to guy, the golden boy that the rest of them were the backup squad for, and now that he’s gone, and Sarah’s gone, and no one has any idea of when they’ll be coming back, everything is just so different.

At least there’s Kie. Kie smiling and Kie rolling her eyes and Kie kissing Pope. She’s his girlfriend, he’s been into her for months, he should be happy about this.

And he _is,_ he’s just _distracted._

Distracted with helping Dad, with Dad breathing down his neck for leaving his interview and not being able to explain _why,_ distracted with Mom constantly checking up on him, distracted with keeping up this facade of pretending to be sad because no one else knows that his friends are alive, distracted with JJ, of course, who’s pretty much living with them now, and that’s a good thing, even if Pope’s father isn’t his biggest fan.

It’s a good thing. Pope’s wanted for years to just pluck up the courage and ask JJ to come live with him, or go live with John B., or _something,_ because his dad’s a piece of shit and everyone knows it. JJ used to brush it off, scoff and say, _It’s not that bad, dude. It’s fine,_ and offer Pope a joint he knew he wouldn’t take, and maybe he’d spend a couple nights with John B. and his dad, but he never stayed at Pope’s, not once.

And now he’s here _all the time,_ and it’s kind of surreal. He’s sprawled out on the air mattress on Pope’s bedroom floor, he’s eating cereal in the kitchen when Pope stumbles in for breakfast, he’s smoking outside Pope’s window to keep the smell out (and Pope hadn’t even asked him to do that), and Mom loves him for helping with the cooking, and Dad tolerates him, despite the bits and pieces of his vibrant personality that piss him off, and it’s taking Pope a long time to get used to.

“What,” JJ will say, grinning, stepping out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. “Did I take too long or something?”

And Pope won’t even know how to respond.

“Is it weird?” Kie asks one night at a party, head in Pope’s lap, sprawled out in the sand, Pope’s fingers combing gently through her hair.

“Is what weird?”

She gestures with her foot at JJ, standing a couple of feet away, surrounded by people, chugging a can of beer. Must be good beer, since Pope’s pretty sure the Kooks brought it. “That.”

“He always does that,” Pope says absently, watching the way JJ’s throat bobs in the light of the torches as he swallows.

“No, I mean, is it weird that he’s living with you?”

Pope blinks. “...No. I don’t think so. No...?”

She laughs softly. “Sounds like a question.” She shifts in his lap. “Is he like, your brother now or something?”

“What? No. That’s...no, he’s not - it’s like having a roommate, actually.”

Kie hums. “Oh my god, they were roommates,” she remarks, and Pope huffs.

“Whatever.”

Kie doesn’t say anything else. Pope continues to distantly touch her hair, eyes focused on JJ, who’s now talking up some tourist girl. She’s looking up at him like he’s the hottest thing she’s ever seen. She’s practically undressing him with her eyes.

Pope feels some _thing_ burn in the pit of his stomach watching it go down. He can’t identify what it is, but it’s unpleasant, acidic, uncomfortable. He doesn’t _like_ that JJ’s flirting with all these girls.

Kie sits up, Pope’s hands fall away, and the feeling dissipates.

Whatever. It was probably just Pope feeling sorry for the tourist girl. She’s going to be gone within the week, what’s the point in toying around with her emotions?

“Pope?” Kie says, and he realizes she’s doing that thing she does when she’s nervous, where she worries at her lower lip with her top teeth.

Something’s up. Pope forces his gaze away from JJ, looks at her.

“Yeah?”

More lip-worrying. “Um. This is going to sound weird, but. Do you like me?”

Pope just sort of looks at her. “What do you mean...?”

“I just mean,” Fidget. “That, well - are you sure you have a crush on me?”

Pope blinks. “What - Of _course_ I like you, Kie, you’re my _girlfriend._ ”

“I know, it’s just...well - never mind.”

“It’s just what?”

“Nothing,” Kie says, standing up and stretching. No more lip-biting, which is probably a good sign. “I’m gonna go get a drink.”

She wanders off, leaving Pope to sit there and wonder what the hell just happened.

He doesn’t get much time to think. JJ appears out of nowhere, the tourist girl from before latched onto his arm, and despite the chugging from earlier, his alcohol intolerance is so high that he appears to be only the slightest bit tipsy.

“Pope!” He pulls the girl forward, gesturing violently. “This is Pope. Pope, this is...what was your name again?”

The girl glares. “ _Cassie._ ”

“Right! This is Cassie. Mind if we join you?”

Pope shrugs. “Pretty sure there’s no stopping you no matter how I respond.”

JJ grins. “Goddamn right there isn’t.” He lowers himself onto the sand next to Pope, Cassie following.

“Kie’s coming back,” Pope says. “She just went to get a drink.”

JJ pulls a pre-rolled spliff out of his pocket. “If you’re lucky, she won’t leave you for some Kook stud.”

Pope snorts. “Kiara? A Kook? Fat chance.”

JJ laughs. “Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth? Want a hit?” Pope shakes his head. He hasn’t smoked since his first time, and that had been a mess. He isn’t ready to try again, doesn’t know if he ever _will_ be.

Maybe if it was just him and JJ and Kie and John B. and Sarah. Somewhere private. Somewhere just for them. The van, or something like it.

“Alright. You?” JJ offers the spliff to Cassie. She looks at it, a single eyebrow arching, unimpressed.

“I thought we would go back to your place,” she says, dropping her voice to a seductive purr, running her fingers teasingly along JJ’s arm. Pope clears his throat, pointedly looks away.

“Sure, sure. In a minute.” A stream of smoke issues from his mouth. His knee bumps Pope’s. Pope wonders if it’s on purpose.

“So.” Pope clears his throat awkwardly. “So, where are you from, Cassie?”

Can’t hurt to make forced conversation.

She flips her hair over her shoulder. “Boulder. My family has a summer house here.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“Yeah. Thankfully, we got here before that whole island-murder-lockdown thing went down. Did you know the guy who killed the sheriff?”

Pope coughs. “Uh, no. No, I didn’t.”

“Fuckin’ _crazy._ ”

JJ leans back on his elbows. “He was alright.”

Pope winces. Cassie stares at him. “You _knew_ that guy?”

“Yup.” Another smoky exhale. “Never thought he had it in him.”

Cassie raises her eyebrows. “Wow, ok.”

Pope clears his throat again, desperate for a subject change. “What do you think of - “

JJ finishes off the spliff, snuffs it out in the sand next to him. He stands, staggers just a little. “C’mon, Pope, let’s go find Kie.”

Cassie crosses her arms. “Look, are we going back to your place or not?”

JJ fixes her with a look. “No, I don’t think so,” he decides.

She huffs. “ _Asshole,_ ” she mutters, stalking off.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Pope remarks, accepting JJ’s offered hand up. He brushes his hands off on his shorts, blinks away the spots in his vision.

“Yeah, well, neither was she.”

“She wasn’t _that_ bad.”

JJ smirks, but it looks a little wooden, a little wrong. “Come on, dude, I know you’ve only got eyes for Kie.”

“Well, yeah,” Pope says, suddenly becoming aware of how close JJ is to him. “I’m her boyfriend.”

“Right.” JJ’s jaw sets. He reaches out, brushes something off of Pope’s cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sand,” he mutters softly. He doesn’t take his thumb off.

Pope isn’t sure what’s happening. For all he knows, this entire night is a dream, and he’ll wake up to JJ’s snoring coming from the floor below his bed. If it is a dream, it’s doing a pretty good job at masquerading as reality. Pope can feel his heart in his throat.

JJ drops his hand, steps back. “Hey, come on. She’s probably talking some poor tourist’s ear off about sea turtles or carbon emissions or whatever-the-fuck.”

“Right,” Pope croaks, the sensation of JJ’s skin against his own lingering, like a slap, but softer. “Whatever-the-fuck.”

It’s two weeks after the storm that JJ has his first night terror. Or, at least, the first night terror that Pope is woken up by.

His eyes open at some god-awful hour of the morning. The A/C’s been on the fritz lately, but even with the window open and the four different fans running in Pope’s room, his skin still prickles with a light sheen of sweat, not enough to stain the sheets, but enough to feel incredibly uncomfortable.

It’s still outside, the only sound the soft chirping of the crickets and the music of some party a long way off. There’s no sound in the room. But _something_ had to wake Pope up.

And then he hears it. A whimper, starting out as a quiet murmur, crescendoing to a louder groan, before cutting off quickly, almost as if silenced on purpose.

“JJ?” Pope asks tentatively, the name half-eclipsed by a yawn.

No response. Then,

“ _No_ \- fuck, Dad, I’m sorry, I’m _sorry, please don’t - PLEASE - “_

“JJ.” Pope swings his legs over the bed, no longer tired, blood thrumming like a live wire. He kneels by the side of the air mattress, shakes JJ by the shoulders, trying to still his thrashing body, trying to make it _stop -_

“JJ, wake up,” he hisses, loud as he dares. His parents are only just down the hall, and they’re heavy sleepers, just like Pope is, but JJ _screamed_ , and, oh god, how many times has this happened where Pope _wasn’t_ awake to do anything about it?

“JJ, come on, man, wake _up._ ”

JJ’s eyes fly open with a gasp. He bolts upright faster than should be possible, breath coming out in raggedy stops and starts. Pope’s still holding onto his shoulders, and JJ collapses into them, presses his forehead against Pope’s bicep, hands clinging to his arm desperately. His breathing turns to wretched sobs, imperceptible but for the sharp exhale of breath every time.

“Hey,” Pope says softly. “Hey, it’s ok.” He rubs JJ’s sweat-soaked back, wraps his arms tighter around him. “You’re safe. You’re here. Deep breaths.”

He keeps on talking, until JJ’s breathing deepens and the crying stops. Pope doesn’t lean back until JJ does, careful to keep holding him until he doesn’t want to be held anymore.

Finally, JJ leans back slowly, sniffling and rubbing the back of his hand across his eyes.

“ _Shit,_ ” he says thickly. _“_ Thanks, dude. Sorry if I woke you up.”

Pope shakes his head. “It’s fine. How are you feeling?”

JJ laughs hollowly. “Like a million bucks.”

“I’m sorry.”

“‘S’not your fault.”

“Still,” Pope says. “You shouldn’t have to suffer because he decided to be a terrible father.”

JJ swallows. “Yeah, well, can’t really do anything about it, can I?”

Pope looks at his hands, because he knows JJ’s right. Any hope of medication or therapy is too expensive, and completely out of the question.

“But you can keep staying here,” Pope tells him. “You don’t have to go back there.”

JJ snorts. “Tell that to your dad. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s not my biggest fan.”

“I don’t care what my dad says.” Pope lays a hand on JJ’s shoulder. “I’m not letting you leave.”

JJ’s lips twitch, forming the barest flicker of a smile, and Pope knows he’ll be alright. “Thanks, Pope.”

It’s a genuine moment of raw gratitude. JJ usually calls Pope “dude” or “man,” just like he always calls everyone “dude” or “man,” and his use of Pope’s name in this moment makes something thud in Pope’s chest.

“No problem,” he says, throat feeling dry. “Do you want to try to go back to sleep? It’s like,” he checks the clock on his desk, “4:00 AM.”

“Yeah,” JJ says. “Yeah, I can sleep.”

He looks so dejected, though, and Pope can’t help himself.

“You can sleep with me.”

JJ’s head snaps up to look at him, eyes big and uncertain.

“I - I mean,” Pope stammers. “You can sleep in my _bed._ That’s what I meant.”

Another flicker of a grin. “Sure that’s all you meant? How do I know you’re not trying to get in my pants, Heyward?”

“Haha, very funny.”

It’s silent for a moment, in that ethereal, timeless way that the dead of night brings. Pope can hear his heart beating in his chest.

It’s not too late. He could say he was joking, that he didn’t really mean it. JJ won’t know otherwise if he says something now.

JJ clears his throat. “Well, I don’t know, dude. I don’t want to take up space.”

A wave of emotion, relief, maybe a bit of something else, washes over Pope. “You wouldn’t be.” He doesn’t even have to think about saying the words. It’s like his brain is on autopilot. “I don’t mind. Why else would I ask you to?”

JJ shrugs.

“Come on,” Pope says. “The mattress is all covered in sweat, anyway.”

JJ wrinkles his nose. “Yeah, and so is my shirt.”

“Ok, well,” Pope’s turn to shrug. “Whatever.” He climbs back onto the bed, patting the spot next to the wall.

This time there’s a real, small smile. “Ok. Fuck, ok, then.” JJ stands, pulls his shirt over hie head, throws it somewhere on the floor, and lies down next to Pope in nothing but his boxers.

“Alright, well,” Pope says, trying not to stare at JJ’s bare chest. He’s seen it tons of times when they’re out on the boat, hell, JJ doesn’t wear a shirt half the time _normally._ So why is does it feel different now? “G’night, JJ.”

“G’night, Pope.”

The last thing Pope sees before he falls back asleep is JJ’s face, finally peaceful in the moonlight.

It starts out with JJ only sleeping in Pope’s bed when he has nightmares. Even on nights where Pope is sleeping too soundly to hear them, he’ll wake up to find JJ’s face on the pillow next to his, thin string of drool slipping out of the corner of his mouth and onto his pillowcase, and that coupled with the almost-completely-faded bruises on his skin makes Pope’s stomach wrench in a way he isn’t totally sure how to describe.

No one should have to go through the shit JJ’s endured his whole life. Pope wishes there was more he could do for him.

JJ slips into Pope’s bed more and more often, until it gets to the point where he’s there every night, until it gets to the point where Pope thinks JJ’s not really having nightmares as often as he wants Pope to believe, until it gets to the point that the mattress deflates down to the floor and no one even bothers to re-inflate it, and JJ doesn’t even pretend to sleep on it anymore. It’s oddly calming to Pope, having JJ in bed with him. When JJ is asleep, he’s much different from when he’s awake. He’s softer. He lets his guard down. Pope wishes he didn’t feel like he had to keep his guard up in the first place.

There are still night terrors, still times where JJ cries out or thrashes around, and Pope has to soothe him, calm him down, hold him until he stops shaking and drifts back off to sleep (Pope isn’t sure if the dreams will ever stop. He googles PTSD-related nightmares, but every site he visits recommends therapy. Pope wishes it were possible for JJ to have access to that sort of thing). Most mornings, Pope wakes up with JJ cradled in his arms, his head tucked under Pope’s chin, hair tickling his nose. Pope doesn’t know what to make of it.

Mom and Dad haven’t noticed anything, or if they have, they haven’t mentioned it to Pope. If they notice the unused mattress shoved into a corner of the room, or the indentation in both of the pillows every morning, they don’t say anything. Pope’s kind of glad they haven’t brought it up.

But neither has JJ. If he wakes up before Pope, he’s out of bed, staring out the window and smoking something. If Pope wakes up first, he’ll wait until JJ opens his eyes to let go of him, and JJ will slip away quickly, won’t meet Pope’s eyes.

Pope doesn’t understand it. But there’s a lot of things Pope doesn’t understand. How to talk to girls. Why people think the earth is flat. Why JJ’s dad beats him.

Why his girlfriend wants to break up with him.

It happens like this: Kie texts him one day, asking if he can meet up, and naturally, Pope assumes that it’s a date.

“I’m going to see Kie,” he tells JJ. “I’ll be back later.”

“Don’t have too much fun without me,” JJ jokes, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

Pope wonders if he feels left out, or if there’s more to it than that.

He meets Kie at her family’s restaurant, gets a table near the water with her. She looks nervous. Jittery. She’s biting her lip. Her leg is bouncing incessantly underneath the table, and she doesn’t seem to want to meet Pope’s eyes.

“Kiara,” he says. “Are you ok?”

“What?” She looks at him like she hadn’t even known he was there. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Well - actually, no, I - I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Pope blinks. “Ok...what is it?”

She sighs. “Do you want this the nice way or the blunt way? Because I can’t figure out which is worse.”

“Just say it,” Pope tells her. He knows that some things just need to be said outright.

Kie shuts her eyes. “I...Pope, I - I want to break up.”

Pope feels something cold sink into his stomach. “Oh.”

Kie looks at him apologetically. “I’m really sorry, I know we’ve only been dating for, like, three weeks, and I know you said you loved me, but I - I can’t do this. It’s just - I can’t. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

“Oh,” Pope says again, for lack of anything better to say. “Alright.”

“Alright?” Kie asks carefully.

“Well, I’m not going to force you to date me if you don’t want to,” Pope says, dully, tonelessly, monotonously.

“And - And you’re sure you’re not mad?” Kie’s eyebrows draw together, searching Pope’s face for an answer.

Pope shrugs. “I think I’m just confused. I don’t understand why. I thought you liked me.”

Kie sighs. “I mean, I wanted to. I tried to. And I do like you, just...just not in that way.”

“But you said that before,” Pope reminds her. “And then afterwards, you kissed me.”

Kie winces. “Yeah, I’m not proud of that. I didn’t know what I was doing, I was - I was _confused._ I thought it would be ok if I tried it out with you, but it wasn’t.”

“But why bother trying at all, Kie? Sorry, it’s just - I really don’t get it.”

She swallows. “I - Well - “ She puts her face in her hands. “Please don’t tell anyone this, Pope.”

Pope feels his eyebrows raise of their own accord. “What? Kie?”

And she says, quietly even though they’re surrounded by people, voice muffled through her fingers, “I’m gay.”

Pope sits back. Exhales. “ _Oh._ ”

Kie nods. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Pope shakes his head. “No, don’t be. I - I had no idea.”

“I tried,” Kie mumbles. “I tried so hard to like you, Pope, but - “

“It’s ok,” Pope tells her. “Really, Kiara, it’s ok. I’m not mad.”

She glances up at him. “But you’re disappointed.”

“Why should I be?”

“Because we aren’t dating anymore.”

He shrugs again. “I don’t want you to lie to yourself about who you are. That’s...you shouldn’t do that. It isn’t good.”

“I know.” She stares down the neck of her Coke bottle. “You’re the only person I’ve told.”

“Ok,” Pope says, sitting back. “Ok, well, thanks for trusting me with this moment? And, uh...congratulations?”

She snorts. “ _‘Congratulations?’_ ”

Pope can feel his face burn. “I don’t know, I’ve never done this before.”

“Yeah, me neither.” She sighs, again, but she sounds lighter, more relieved. “Don’t tell JJ.”

“Ok. When do you want to tell him?”

Kie shrugs. “I don’t know, just - Sometime. I will.”

“Ok.”

Pope stares down into his basket of hush puppies, appetite slowly starting to return.

“Kie?” he says.

“What?”

“When I told you I loved you...,” He licks his lips. “I was stoned. I didn’t know what I was saying.”

“But you liked me,” Kie points out. “Even if you didn’t love me, you had a crush on me.”

“You know,” Pope says, leaning back in his seat. “I’m really not sure if I ever did. I don’t know.”

Kie smiles. “I don’t know, either.”

“We cool?”

“We’re cool.”

They’re cool.

But as always, things don’t stay cool for that long. Pope is very confused in just about every way possible. His girlfriend broke up with him because she doesn’t even like men, and now Pope is wondering if he ever really wanted to date her at all or if something’s wrong with him. Because, yeah, he’d had a crush on her. At least, he’s pretty _sure_ he’d had one. Pope doesn’t really _get_ crushes. He’s not really sure how they work. John B. had once mentioned something about butterflies in your stomach and a racing heart, but Pope never really felt those things around Kie.

So then why did he try to convince himself he liked her? Or maybe he did like her, maybe he still does, and John B.’s crush symptoms aren’t universal?

But he’s not exactly sad that they’ve broken up. At first he was, though more shocked than anything else, but now...now he just feels very, very _confused._

And the stuff with JJ isn’t helping. He won’t even talk to Pope in the mornings now. He seems totally weirded out by the fact that they’re sharing a bed, even though Pope has told him time and time again that it isn’t awkward for him at all.

Everything is just so _weird_ right now.

“Wanna get outta here?” JJ asks. They’re at another party, well into a ridiculous hour of the night, and all Pope’s been thinking about for the past hour is how he really needs to get started on his summer reading. Kie couldn’t make it to this one, had mentioned something over text about getting grounded for breaking a mirror, and so it’s just JJ and Pope.

“Where would we go?” Pope asks, swilling his drink around inside his cup. He doesn’t like drinking all too much, or at least, he isn’t feeling it tonight, but someone had shoved the cup into his hands a while ago, and he doesn’t have the heart to litter.

“The beach is pretty empty down over there.” JJ points to their right, to a stretch of land void of any people. “So how about it?”

Pope just looks at him, raises an eyebrow. “Since when are you the type to leave a party?”

“I’m not,” JJ replies. “But you are, and you’ve looked pretty bored just wall-flowering over here by yourself, so I figured I’d offer you an exit.”

“In that case,” Pope says, feeling warm all over for reasons he can’t explain. “Let’s go.”

“Cool.” JJ grabs Pope’s drink, knocks back whatever was in it, and tosses the empty solo cup over his shoulder.

“Dude,” Pope says, grimacing. “Kie would _so_ kick your ass for that.”

JJ shrugs. “Someone’ll get it. And Kie’s _so_ not here.” He starts off in the direction of the beach, and Pope follows him, hands shoved into his pockets.

The place is completely empty, which is surprising. Usually there’s at least one couple making out in the sand back here. But there’s no horny teens here tonight, and Pop has no problem with that.

JJ kicks off his sandals and sits down in the sand, right at the shoreline, letting the tide rush in and wash over his feet. Pope joins him, resting back on his hands and staring up at the sky.

“Moon’s nice tonight,” he remarks. JJ grunts in agreement from behind the spliff in his mouth.

“My mom used it to call the Eye of God,” JJ says, letting a stream of smoke issue from his mouth.

“I guess I can see that.”

“Yeah,” JJ mutters. “She was cool.”

A somewhat awkward silence descends. Pope’s never really known what to say when it comes to JJ’s mother. Not that he brings it up much.

“Sorry about Kie,” JJ says then, and _ugh,_ this conversation is not heading in the direction Pope wants it to.

“Yeah, well,” he says lightly. “It’s ok. Things just weren’t working out.”

“Why not?” JJ asks. “You guys seemed like you were perfect for each other.”

“I don’t know,” Pope says. “She just - look, can we not talk about it right now?”

JJ holds his hands up. “Sorry, man. I know you’re still upset about it.”

Is he? Is he really, though? Pope just doesn’t know.

“It’s fine,” he says, determined to look anywhere but into JJ’s eyes.

JJ holds out the spliff. “Don’t know why I’m bothering to ask, but do you want some?”

Pope looks at the roll in JJ’s hand. He still hasn’t smoked since his first time. And that time ended really weirdly, so he isn’t sure if he wants to do it again.

But he has been feeling really confused lately. And whenever he feels confused, he gets stressed, so...

“Ok,” Pope says. “Here.”

JJ raises an eyebrow, but passes the spliff over to Pope. Pope stares at it, at the glowing end, at the little trail of smoke wafting off of it. He hesitates.

“Hey,” JJ says, and his voice is gentle, easy. “I have an idea.”

“Yeah?”

“We could try shotgunning,” JJ says, and Pope’s mind goes totally blank.

“Uh,” he says, feeling strangely nervous. “Isn’t that what, like, frat guys do? With girls? Like, you sort of kiss, and...you know.”

JJ shrugs nonchalantly. “I mean, sure. You won’t get as high if you’re inhaling my second-hand smoke, dude. Take it slow.”

“Well,” Pope says. “I guess...I guess we could try it out...”

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” JJ says, and Pope swallows.

“No, I want to. Let’s do it.” And he’s surprised at how strong the words come out.

JJ looks taken aback, too. “Ok. Ok, sure...”

He takes the spliff back from Pope, twirls it in between his fingers. “Ok, so I’ll take a hit. And then I’ll...y’know...and you just inhale, ok?”

“Yeah.”

“You ready?”

Pope nods. Swallows again. Tries to stop his hands from fidgeting so much. God, it feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest.

JJ takes a long, slow drag off of the spliff. He pauses for a moment, blinks a couple of times, and then carefully, slowly, _agonizingly_ slowly, leans towards Pope, resting his hand on Pope’s shoulder to steady himself. Pope reminds himself to close his eyes, to get a grip, to not freak out, but his chest feels like a timpani drum.

JJ’s lips touch Pope’s in a sort of open-mouthed kiss, and Pope’s brain completely short-circuits. He can feel the smoke billowing out onto his face, but he doesn’t breathe it in. He _can’t._ He’s too busy focusing on JJ’s hand on his shoulder, and JJ’s lips on his lips, and -

Pope gasps, sucks in breath too quickly, and the smoke goes right to the back of his throat. He leans back, turns his head to the side and coughs and coughs and coughs.

He can hear JJ’s laugh. “Woah! Dude, you alright?”

Pope’s eyes are watering, and he’s still coughing like crazy, but he manages to push himself up into a standing position.

“Sorry,” he wheezes.

“No, it’s ok,” JJ says. “Wanna try again?”

Pope covers his mouth with his shirt, and though the back of his throat tickles, all he can think about is what just happened. “No, I - I gotta - I need to leave, I - I’m _sorry_ \- “

“Hey, wait - Pope!”

Pope runs off as fast as he can, ignoring JJ’s shouts, without a second glance at him, because he doesn’t want to see the look on his face.

Fuck. Fuck, Pope’s just realized something, in that split-second where JJ was touching him. He can still feel JJ’s hand on his shoulder, like a brand, burning more than the smoke ever did, and he can still feel JJ’s _lips -_ lips that he’d wanted to kiss, wanted to touch with his own outside of just shotgunning, outside of being friends and being bros and being _bunkmates,_ or whatever the fuck they are, and the scariest thing is that Pope had almost done it. He’d almost considered grabbing JJ’s face and kissing the shit out of him.

_Fuck._ Pope isn’t - he can’t be - he’s _never_ \- and not with _JJ,_ that’s not how -

_Fuck._ He’s -

He’s even more confused now than he was before. And he’s at home in bed, having a panic attack at three in the morning, and JJ hasn’t come back.

Pope wakes up early the next day (because he always wakes up with his alarm, no matter how late he stayed up the night before) with his arms splayed out across the other side of the bed like he’s holding someone invisible. The space that JJ would usually occupy is empty. Pope looks over the edge of the bed. The mattress is exactly where it’s been for the past week, deflated and forgotten like an old balloon.

The memories of last night hit Pope like a train. The beach. Shotgunning with JJ. Running away. Realizing he’s been in love with him for god knows how long. Long enough.

Pope shuffles into the kitchen, where Mom’s drinking a cup of coffee and watching the news. Dad is nowhere to be found, already off at work for the day.

“Hey, Mom.”

She glances up, smiles at him. “Hey, sweetie. How’d you sleep?”

“Fine.” Pope swallows, staring at his intertwined fingers. “Have you seen JJ?”

Mom frowns. “No, I haven’t seen him today. Did he not come home last night?”

“No, he did,” Pope lies, stomach sinking. “Oh, right, I forgot. He said he was heading out early to hang with Kie.”

Mom looks at him sympathetically. “Oh, honey. Is he trying to hook up with her? That wouldn’t be very fair to you.”

“What - no, he’s not trying to _hook up_ with her, Mom.” At least, Pope _hopes_ not. Not that Kie would be into that, but it would just make everything doubly complicated for Pope.

“Ok,” Mom hums. “I still don’t understand why that girl broke up with you. You’re too sweet for a rich girl like that, I guess.”

“ _Mom,_ ” Pope says. She’s pretty good about his friends normally, but she’s been mad about Kie ever since she managed to wheedle it out of Pope that they broke up.

Pope goes back to his room, takes a shower (soap does nothing to wash the overbearing feeling of guilt out of his skin), throws on some clothes, and heads out. Maybe JJ’s at the restaurant. God, he hopes so. He can’t stop thinking: _Where did he go after I left? Where did he spend the night?_

What if he went back home? Pope wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he was the reason for JJ going back to his father.

JJ isn’t at the restaurant when Pope gets there, but Kie is, wiping down the counter. She freezes when she sees him, straightens herself up with stiff motions.

“Hey,” he says, albeit a little awkwardly.

“Hey,” she says back, also a little awkwardly.

A beat.

Kie clears her throat. “So - “

“I kissed JJ,” Pope blurts, without even meaning to, and Kie’s eyes blow wide open. She grabs him by the arm, pulls him through the kitchen and out back behind the building, by the dumpster.

“ _Spill,_ ” she orders once the coast is clear.

“Ok, well - I didn’t _really_ kiss him,” Pope says, already wondering if telling her is the right call.

Kie shakes her head. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Ok, so we were at that party last night - By the way, how long are you grounded for?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Kie hisses, looking over Pope’s shoulder for anyone coming out of the door. “Get to it, Pope.”

“Ok, sorry,” he says quickly. “Well, anyway, we were at the party, and we kind of snuck off, and we were talking, and then JJ was like ‘Do you want to smoke?’ because he always asks me that, and I was kind of unsure but then I was just like, ‘You know what, why not?’ And then _he_ was like, ‘Do you want to shotgun?’ And I said _yes_ like an _idiot,_ and then when he...you know, I freaked out, and I ran away and he didn’t come home last night, and I feel like such an _asshole,_ Kie.”

“Hey,” she says once he’s done. “Calm down. It’s ok, just breathe.”

Pope forces himself to take deeper breaths. “Ok. Sorry, I’m just really kind of freaking out right now.”

Kie nods. “Ok. It’s ok. Did he look like he was mad at you?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t really look at his face.”

“Ok.” She bites her lip. “He hasn’t texted you or anything?”

Pope shakes his head.

“Have you tried texting him?”

He shakes his head a second time. “I wanted to, but I didn’t know what to say.”

Kie exhales. “Ok. Do you know why you freaked out?”

“ _Kie,_ ” Pope says, almost pleadingly. “I think I _like_ him.”

“You _think_ you like him, or you _do_ like him?”

“I - “ Pope breaks off, and swallows roughly. “I think I might be in love with him,” he says quietly.

Kie whistles lowly. “Wow. Ok.”

Pope looks up at her. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Simple,” she says. “You have to talk to him.”

“I don’t know where he is,” Pope reminds her. He doesn’t know where JJ is, and he’s still freaking out a little bit.

“Pope, where do you think he is?” she asks him. “Where do we always go when we’re in trouble, any of us?”

John B.’s house. Of course. Why didn’t Pope think of that before?

“Ok,” Pope says slowly. “Can you come with me?”

Kie shakes her head. “I’m not gonna come with you.”

“What? Why not?”

“ _Pope,_ ” she sighs. “This conversation has to be between the two of you. I shouldn’t be there. Plus, my parents will _kill_ me if I leave work. I really can’t get grounded again, I’ll go insane.”

“Ok.” Pope nods. “Ok, I’ll go.” He turns to leave.

“Good luck,” Kie says. “And, Pope?”

He looks back at her. “Yeah?”

She gives him a small smile. “It’s going to be ok.”

He returns the smile, sadly. “I hope so.”

John B.’s house is really the ultimate safe haven for any Pogue. Pope used to come here when he was feeling overwhelmed, when his dad was on him about his scholarship and all he needed was a chance to unwind. Kie would come here whenever her parents were nagging her about Kook things, about fancy parties, about dinners with other stupid, preppy Kook kids that she didn’t want to go to. The house was, of course, a safe house for JJ whenever things got really bad at home, whenever he had to have somewhere to hide. No matter who needed him, John B. would always be here with a cold beer and some friendly advice.

Of course, no one’s really been in here since John B. left. It doesn’t feel right to be. The house is technically off-limits, until it’s dealt with legally, but the law doesn’t know about the spare key in the flowerpot, available to anyone who knows where to look.

Pope finds the door to the house ajar, and JJ lounging on the sofa, joint in hand. He stiffens when he sees that it’s Pope, and sits up to retreat to a corner of the couch, shrinking in on himself. It’s so uncharacteristic of JJ’s usually ridiculously energetic self that Pope knows it’s going to be hard to fix this one.

“Hey,” he says tentatively, sinking down onto the other side of the sofa.

“Hi,” JJ repeats dully. The smoke furling off of the joint catches in the light of the rays of the afternoon sun. Pope allows himself a few moments to get lost in watching it before he forces himself to say something else.

“Look,” he tries. “I’m sorry about what happened last night.”

JJ takes a hit, and stares straight ahead, refusing to look Pope in the eye. “‘S’fine.”

Pope shakes his head. “No, it’s not fine. I made you feel like shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left.”

JJ says nothing.

“You didn’t come home last night,” Pope says slowly. “I though you’d...”

JJ looks at him. “Thought I’d what?”

Pope fidgets. “Thought you’d gone... _home._ ”

JJ scoffs. “Yeah, right. You couldn’t get me back in that shithole if you tried.”

Pope feels light-headed from the amount of sheer relief that passes through him at those words. “So you came...”

“I spent the night here,” JJ says.

Pope frowns. “There’s definitely no food here, though.”

JJ shrugs.

“JJ, have you eaten today?”

Another shrug. “Doesn’t matter.”

Pope shifts closer to him, as close as he dares. “‘Course it matters, JJ.”

JJ rolls his eyes. “Oh, so _now_ you care about me.”

Pope stares. “What are you - _Yeah,_ I care about you, I’ve always cared about you.”

“Didn’t seem that way last night.”

Pope sighs exasperatedly, not at JJ, but at himself. “Look, last night - I panicked, ok? I told myself I was ready for something I wasn’t, and I freaked out. I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have ditched you, I know. I just - I was being stupid.”

JJ fixes him with a look Pope doesn’t know how to interpret. “Did you freak out because of the weed? Or because it was me?”

Pope falters. “I...I - “

“Because if it was the weed,” JJ continues. “Then I understand. But if it was me? Dude, we’re friends. It’s chill.” But his voice sounds strained. Bitter. Wrong.

Pope moves, making the distance between them even smaller. “Is it? Is it chill, JJ?” he asks desperately. “I don’t think it is.”

JJ swallows. “What do you mean - “

“It’s just - “ Pope hesitates, thinks about his words. “What if it’s not chill? What if I don’t just want to be friends with you? What if I freaked out and ran away because - “ He breaks off.

JJ’s staring at him. Their faces are only a couple of inches apart, and JJ is staring at him in a way Pope’s never seen him look at anyone before, and Pope has no idea if what’s happening is good or bad or the worst mistake of his life, but his heart is pounding and his mind is reeling with so many questions, so many questions.

“Pope,” JJ says hoarsely. “If you’re fucking with me, I swear to god - “

“I’m not fucking with you,” Pope says. “JJ, I’m just - _fuck,_ I’m so _confused._ I only figured this out last night. I didn’t even know that I...was _like that._ ”

JJ snuffs the joint out on the coffee table, throat bobbing as he swallows roughly. “But you’re...you don’t...I mean, are you...?” He looks at Pope questioningly, pleadingly, hopefully.

Pope throws his hands up in the air. “I don’t know! I don’t know anything, I just...I _like_ you, ok, I only just figured this out, and it’s really messing with me, and - look, you took the fall for me for Topper’s boat even when you didn’t have to, and you _really_ didn’t have to, and now you’re in debt, and I - when you did that for me, I _freaked out,_ and I felt like just the worst friend in the world, and then you weren’t even mad at me! And I thought so much about it, and why you did it, and JJ, I think that I’m probably, like, in love with you or something, because of that, and because of _everything,_ and it’s...it’s a _lot._ ”

He hadn’t even realized that the words were true until he said them. JJ is still looking at him in that odd way, a mixture of shock and something else that’s indescribable.

“Pope,” he says, and his voice sounds so wrecked. “Please, _please_ tell me this isn’t a joke. Swear to god. Promise. Because if - “

Pope kisses him. He just leans forward across the few inches between them, puts his hands on either side of JJ’s face, and kisses him. Simple as that.

Pope’s only kissed two people in his whole life: Kie, and now JJ. Kissing Kie had been awkward, all clicking teeth and gross noises and sloppiness, and it was _weird,_ it felt _weird._ But with JJ, kissing feels different. It’s still sloppy, their teeth still knock into each other a little bit, the noises are still gross, but it’s _exciting,_ it’s _filling,_ it’s _JJ._

Pope leans back, touches his forehead to JJ’s. JJ’s eyes are still closed, his lips parted, his breathing heavy, his fingers warm on Pope’s wrists, holding them in place.

“ _Pope,_ ” JJ breathes, and Pope melts.

“Is that the answer you were hoping for?” he asks, and JJ laughs, a little hysterically.

“You sap,” he says, but softly, affectionately, and then he kisses Pope again.

It’s this whole new thing for Pope, kissing JJ, and he wants to do it forever. He wants to learn JJ’s mouth with his tongue, he wants to map out his entire body with his fingertips, and he wants JJ to do the same to him. Somehow, Pope ends up on top of him, basically sitting in his lap, JJ’s hands snaking beneath his shirt, and it’s probably the best Pope has felt all summer. Or at least, the best he’s felt since John B. and Sarah left.

JJ starts to kiss his neck, and Pope lets out a small, breathy groan, and JJ goes, “ _Shit,_ ” and kisses him again roughly, open-mouthed, dirty. Pope realizes that they’re both hard. Then he realizes that that’s not a bad thing. Maybe they could - Maybe they should - 

Pope’s phone rings in his back pocket. He sighs, straightens up, fishes for it.

“Fuck, who is it?” JJ asks, glaring.

“It’s Kie,” Pope says. “She knew I was coming here.”

“ _Ugh,_ come _on,_ Kiara,” JJ whines. “Way to cockblock.”

Pope smirks. “Shut up.” He answers the phone.

“Hey,” he says, trying not to sound like he’s just been making out with JJ.

“Hey,” Kie replies. “Did you work things out?”

“Uh, yeah,” Pope sneaks a glance at JJ, who’s still got his hands up Pope’s shirt and is grinning smugly about it. “Things turned out pretty well.”

“Great,” she says, sounding distracted. “That’s awesome, you gotta give me deets later. But listen, Pope - “

“Yeah?”

“I just got a call from Sarah,” she says, and all of a sudden, Pope’s thinking of nothing else. “Pope, _they found the gold._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> obx is the straightest of straight culture and yet i wrote mlm fic for it. i'm either very intelligent and cool or really fucking stupid.


End file.
